It was Emily's long-awaited appointment with the paediatric endocrinologist today. The hospital itself is rather dreary and depressing, and as usual it irked me immensely to have to fork out two pounds for the privilege of parking my car there. And the volunteer lady at the information booth - well, you tell me, if someone asks you if you can direct them to the paediatric endocrinology department, is it appropriate to look slightly offended and say "Oh, I don't know that!"?

But (once we'd found the right place and waited the obligatory half-hour) both Emily and I liked the consultant. She'd read Emily's notes carefully, and was organised, efficient, and polite. She talked to Emily, not just to me, and she didn't patronise either of us. Seems that everything's on track with Emily's growth, so we don't have to do anything more for another couple of months, when we'll do another round of blood tests and (yuck) another MRI.

So far I have to say I'm pretty impressed with the NHS. We're getting the same level of care as we were in the US, but instead of paying through the nose it is all free.

Didn't altogether feel like going back to work after the appointment, but I did anyway.

I really hate it when I'm in a class and the teacher tells the kids something that is just not correct. Today, for instance, I was in a food technology (aka domestic science, aka cooking) class where the teacher was helping the students revise their notes on vegetarianism. She repeatedly claimed that quorn was vegan, and (since we eat the stuff quite frequently) I happen to know that it isn't. Since I didn't want the kids to to into their (externally moderated) exam with the wrong facts, I did point out her error this time, in what I hope in a tactful way. Normally, I just keep my mouth shut and fume inwardly. I am not sure if this is teaching me valuable lessons in self-control, or simply setting me up for developing ulcers.